“Man, my neck is itching. There’s not a case of fleas in the school, is there?”

Our principal pinched his nose, closing his eyes a moment. “I am pretending I didn’t hear that, because if I did, and it was a true complaint, I would have to allocate money from the budget to test for fleas in this school. So…” He held his hands up, palms facing us. “I am backing away.” He did.

“Hey!”

He bumped into Monica and Sunday.

“Sorry, ladies.”

He was gone after that.

Zellman waited until Principal Neeon was almost to the end of the hallway before kicking his locker shut again.

It stayed this time.

Race shook his head. “No one can say you guys aren’t interesting. That’s for sure.”

Monica and Sunday took a step forward, easy grins on their faces.

Jordan narrowed his eyes, the amusement over Zellman’s locker fiasco gone. “You looking to join, Race? Is that why you’re hanging around us every chance you get?”

Monica and Sunday retreated backwards0.

Race’s eyes narrowed. “I helped you guys last night.”

“We didn’t ask for it.”

“Didn’t need it either,” Zellman added.

Race didn’t seem to care. “You think Alex apologized out of the goodness of his heart? Or I’m sorry—would you rather have waged a full-blown crew war?”

“Alex knew he was wrong,” Jordan said.

“You think he came to that conclusion on his own?” Race stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You think he’s that smart?”

He had a point.

Cross, Jordan, and Zellman knew it too.

“Look.” Jordan moved to face Race directly. “What do you want? You’re around the crew a lot. Either you want in—and if you do, that shit doesn’t happen overnight—or there’s another reason.” He glanced to me. “I figure we got something else you want.”

Uh, what?

I froze a moment, looking from Jordan to Race. There were no elaborations or denials, and a full boost of heat warmed my body. I felt everyone’s gaze on me—Cross especially—but no one said anything.

So I did. I shook my head. “No. I already dated one Ryerson.”

Race spoke as if I hadn’t said a word. “Maybe. I can’t deny that could be part of it.”

I closed my eyes, sucking in some air.

What was this guy doing? Was he for real?

I felt Cross’ gaze on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I didn’t want to see whatever was there—disappointment, or something worse. An image of how he’d looked at me last night, before he took his shirt off, flashed in my memory. That tickling/tingling was coming back.

I held my hands up. “I’m out.” I jerked my head in Race’s direction. “He’s fucking with you all.”

I pushed past Cross, then past Monica and Sunday, who seemed entranced where they stood behind us.

I could feel myself breaking out in hives. I didn’t want a Drake 2.0 situation.

Taz must’ve seen me leaving, and I was shoving through the doors to the parking lot when I heard her voice behind me.

“Hey! Bren! Hey.”

I was going to ignore her, then remembered Cross had driven us to school that morning.

“You move fast. Wow.” Taz was a little out of breath when she caught up to me. Bracing a hand on my arm, she waited until her breathing evened out, then gave me a rueful look. “I was head cheerleader last year, and now I can’t catch up to you walking down the hallway.” She placed her hand on her hip. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”

“You were the head cheerleader?”

“No.” She waved in the air, twirling her wrist. “I added it for dramatic effect. Thought it sounded funnier.” She waited, watching me.

I wasn’t laughing.

“Huh. I must’ve been wrong.”

I pointed to Cross’ truck. “I need a ride home.”

“Oh.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m sure Cross will be coming in a bit.”

Not the point. I went through the names I could call to give me a ride. Channing. Heather.

So, yeah.

The real question: wait for Cross? Or walk on my own? Normally, a walk was fine, but I wasn’t feeling it with the heat today. The sun was blaring too much, so I had no choice.

I plopped down on the curb, and Taz sat with me. The last of lingering students headed past us, but there’d be another wave coming out in twenty minutes as the athletes went to the football field, tennis courts, track, and volleyball courts.

“Um…” Taz hugged her bag on her lap. “I have to prepare you for something.”

“What?” I looked over. “Don’t you have practice too? Didn’t you join the squad again?”

“What?” She frowned at me. “Oh. No. I was just helping them out with some things yesterday. You know, because I was one of the managers last year, but no. Nope. I’m not on the squad anymore.” She crossed her arms, or tried. The bag got in her way.

I eyed her bag. “You have a slight hoarding problem.”

She looked down. “Huh?”

The bag was bulging. She’d brought more stuff to her locker the first day than Zellman could stuff into his locker.

“I’m just saying. It’s starting early,” I told her.

“What’s starting early?”

“You need a hoarder’s prevention treatment plan.” I winced, hearing myself. I’d started it as a joke, but now I’d channeled The Badger. Lame.

“Oh.” Taz laughed, waving me off. “I get that from our mom. Cross gets the other gene from our dad. He hates having anything extra. If he could do without his bed and desk in his room, he would.” She raised her hands, trying to reach around her bag again. She failed. Again. Finally she leaned back, her hands propping her up from behind her. “But back to the cheerleading squad. They’d like me to join. Sunday wants to be the bully, but not do any of the actual work. I’m not going to take her crap this year. Some of the girls want me to join to help contain her, but they’re on their own. They gotta stand on their own two feet. They can do it. They’ll have a good base.”

I eyed her with a sideways glance. And she said Cross and I had our own language.

“Yeah.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “No way, but um…okay. So, speaking of Sunday…”

She looked like she was preparing for a formal interview. “Sunday is going to approach you today to apologize, and Monica is going to ask if there’s anything going on with you and Cross.” She grimaced, waiting for my reaction. “Can you not…” Her face pinked and her lips mashed together. “…beat them up when they do?”

I grinned. “So much for not taking her crap.”

Her face went from pink to red. “This is different. That’s different. I’m trying to prevent a full-out war. There’ll only be one victim in all of that. Me.” She pointed to herself, shaking her head. “You’ll be protected by your guys, and Sunday will hide behind the squad. Me. I’m in the middle. So, for me… Don’t?”

When she put it like that, I felt bad about the orange juice. “You don’t want me to beat them up?”

“No!” She twirled her hands in the air. “Or pour things on them? Sunday doesn’t know the tire thing was you, but if you do it again, she’ll figure it out. She thought some criminals from Frisco must’ve been at Manny’s.”

And the irony of all was that she’s from Roussou, thinking that.

Taz sat back up, picking at the end of her shirt. “They’re trying to be real with you. Because that’s how you like it. Real. No fake shit. They’re scared, but they’re going to try it your way.”

It should have bothered me to hear people were scared to talk to me.

It didn’t. I felt satisfaction. It was a perfected coping mechanism—scare ’em right away and not have to deal with them later. I felt myself smiling. Maybe Z was right. I was brilliant.

I started laughing.

Taz had been talking. “What? What’s funny?”